


What do we do when we’re sad...

by Nakeycatstakebaths



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Basically this whole fic is about a grocery store, Bellamy works at Trader Joes, Crush at First Sight, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Romantic Comedy, Romantic Fluff, They're both huge dorks, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, dorks to lovers?, kind of coffee shop au, this is pure sap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 05:01:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28665153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nakeycatstakebaths/pseuds/Nakeycatstakebaths
Summary: Nothing cures a bad mood quite like a trip to Trader Joe’s. So when Clarke wakes up in a funk, a bouquet of sunflowers and a visit with the cute check out boy she admires from afar feel like a great solution. It’s just a crush, they’ve never even spoken—until Bellamy proves himself to be the sweetest and funniest man Clarke has ever met.Her day may have gotten off to a bad start, but it turned out better than she ever could have hoped.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 14
Kudos: 112





	What do we do when we’re sad...

**Author's Note:**

> I have writer's block and this is self-indulgent nonsense. I hope y'all enjoy it as much as I loved writing it.

“I hate everything,” Clarke groaned, rubbing her hand over her face as she rifled through the cabinet, searching for her mug. 

There was a light snort from Harper, but no response, leaving Clarke to mumble to herself about self-proclaimed misery and the sun being too bright. 

Her coffee, left sitting in the pot for too long, had tipped into an uncomfortable tepidness that made her stomach churn. So down the sink, it went, her only boost of serotonin circling the drain. 

There wasn’t anything particularly wrong about her life right now, save for her annoying minimum wage job. And yet, Clarke couldn’t shake the feeling that today was a bad day, and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. 

“You’re being so whiny, and for what?” Emori teased, bumping her hip as she passed to grab a granola bar from the pantry. 

“Just because,” she shrugged, spooning a depressing helping of instant coffee into her mug instead—bitter was still better than having to go to work on her day off. 

Of course, on her only day off in three weeks, she would wake up in the world’s worst mood. 

Clarke folded herself into a kitchen chair, letting her warm mug rest on her knees, hoping that the sun filtering through the windows would seep into her bones. 

Her friends settled across from her, both in their work clothes, shoving spoonfuls of cereal into their mouths as they checked their phones. 

“If you don’t have any grand plans for today, why don’t you go buy us some more cookie butter and cauliflower gnocchi?” Emori suggested, tipping her bowl to catch the last of the milk. 

And well, it wasn’t a bad idea. 

Trader Joe’s always managed to make her feel better. 

“Can you buy me some of those mini brie things too? And bagel seasoning,” Harper added, collecting the dirty dishes and shooting her friend an encouraging smile. 

Perhaps it was exactly what Clarke needed to shake her out of her funk, and they did need groceries after all. 

She would make a day out of it, force herself out of this self-induced lousy mood. 

So she bid her friends goodbye and lit her favorite candle, clicked on a playlist of indie-pop songs from mid-2000s movies, and danced back to her room. 

Putting on a yellow sundress and a jean jacket didn’t really solve her woes, but at least she looked cute. 

Unbeknownst to Harper and Emori, Clarke had a vested interest in going to Trader Joe’s—beyond needing to restock her green tea ice cream—the curly-haired cashier with the kitten patch on his apron. 

She didn’t know his name, his nametag always just out of her line of sight, but every time he paused to suggest a new product to her, it made her heart flutter. 

It didn’t mean anything, just a harmless crush on a random stranger. But sometimes, having an extra reason to put on eyeliner made all the difference. 

With one last look at her hair in the mirror, Clarke headed out, hoping that the cute cashier would be working today. 

She already felt a little lighter, glad to have an excuse to wear makeup and nice clothes, to be out in the sun with no specific agenda. Still a little sour over her instant coffee, she dipped into a small, local place for a cold brew, savoring the satisfaction of spending money at her job’s competitor. 

But in all her smugness, she’d jinxed herself. As Clarke grabbed a cart and entered Trader Joe’s, she took a big sip of cold brew only to be met with no sweetener and the strongest cup of coffee she’d ever tasted in her life. It took all her willpower not to spit it on the floor in surprise. 

Skipping over the entire store, she made a beeline for the sample counter, zeroing in on the complimentary beverages and tray of accompaniments. 

In her haste to make her drink palatable, she didn’t notice her favorite employee until they were almost nose to nose. 

“Are you okay?” He asked, quirking an eyebrow as he looked between her scrunched nose and the cup in her hand. “You look a little—frazzled, not like bad or anything—I uhh—I mean. Can I help?” 

He flashed her a half-smile, rubbing the back of his neck with his palm. The angle gave her a chance to finally see his nametag, hanging crookedly on his chest. 

Bellamy. 

And, of course, he would have a name like that. 

Seeing it spelled out made her want to say it out loud, to feel each syllable roll off her tongue. 

Bell-a-my. 

The discovery of his name left her so off guard that it took her a beat to realize she was staring at him awkwardly for way longer than socially appropriate. 

“That would be great,” she said, clearing her throat and hoping it hadn’t been too obvious that she’d been blatantly daydreaming about him. 

With another smile and a quick nod, he took her cup and popped the lid off. From under the counter, he produced a carton of creamer, a bottle of syrup, and a few packets of sweetener. 

Even as a barista, Clarke couldn’t help but be impressed as he doctored up her drink. In reality, it wasn’t doing much, but the meticulous way he moved left her a little mesmerized. 

“I don’t think I got your name,” he said as he swirled a drizzle of caramel into the much lighter drink. 

“Clarke, Clarke Griffin.” 

“Well, Clarke Griffin, here’s to hoping this is a little better.” 

The plastic cup scraped the counter loudly when it slid back toward her, and she immediately stabbed her straw in and took a trial sip. 

“I’m a barista, and even I have to say, this is really freaking good. You might’ve missed your calling,” she grinned, feeling a piece of her heaviness chip away and replace itself with something brighter. 

“Now that’s a compliment I’ll take,” he said, tucking his coffee ingredients back under the sample counter. “Just don’t tell anyone I broke the rules for you.” 

And then, with a wink, he turned around to dump a packet of pretzel bites into an air fryer. 

Not wanting to annoy him, Clarke made her way back to the front of the store, but the way he’d looked at her made her feel warm around her collar. 

Her drink was delicious, and she sipped on it while he examined bouquets of sunflowers. An older woman stopped to chat with her about bunches of eucalyptus, and with each moment, Clarke felt her mood improve. She slowly walked a lap around the store, collecting the stuff from their list. 

On her second round, she let herself browse the more indulgent items. 

“How’s this one?” She asked, holding up a mini cheesecake and tilting it toward Bellamy. His back was turned to her, and he shoved a frozen pizza back on the shelf as he acknowledged her. 

“Honestly, not my favorite,” he said, taking the box from her and setting it back in the freezer. Instead, he replaced it with a full-sized one, making a point to explain that the cuteness did not make up for the dry crust. “To be honest, though, homemade cheesecake is super easy, and it definitely makes a difference.” 

Clarke snorted before she could fully react, explaining that she lived off cereal and frozen food. Making cheesecake was so far out of her realm; it was laughable. The snort didn’t make her look sexy by any means, but Bellamy didn’t seem to care. Instead, he tugged lightly on the front of the cart and led her around the corner to a different aisle. 

“Foolproof, trust me,” he chuckled, propping a layered jar of cookie ingredients on his palm. 

“If I burn my apartment down, I will personally come to find you and make you take that back,” she teased, tucking the jar next to her ice cream. 

“I’m in culinary school. I know a baker when I see it,” Bellamy continued, trailing beside her down the aisle. “And you’re a baker.” 

“Oh, is that so?” 

“It is, in fact. Anyone can bake a mix,” he said, propping his shoulder against a shelf. “Including you.” 

“I’m going to hold you to that,” she smiled, letting the edges of her mouth tick up slowly, a bundle of heat unfurling in her belly as she and Bellamy locked eyes. 

He opened his mouth, the beginnings of a reply on his lips when the older woman from earlier cleared her throat, tilting her chin toward the array of seasonings they were blocking. 

Bellamy jumped in, surprised, immediately apologizing to the customer and nodding goodbye before he turned and disappeared around the counter. 

And just like that, the moment was gone, embarrassment leaving Clarke’s cheeks tinted a faint pink. 

But despite the awkwardness, this morning was ending significantly better than it started. 

***

  
“Are you baking?” Harper exclaimed, dropping her bag in the entrance with a heavy thud before she pressed the back of her hand to Clarke’s forehead. “What is going on with you? Are you pregnant?” 

“Oh my God, I’m not pregnant. I haven’t had sex with a man in like two years,” Clarke exclaimed, throwing a stray M&M at her friend. 

“Well, maybe...just maybe, the lack of sex is making you a little coo coo for coco puffs,” she shrugged, stealing a finger of the batter as Clarke scooped cookies onto a tray. 

So far, the mix proved to be as foolproof as she’d expected, and as far as both of them were concerned, the cookie dough seemed edible. 

At the mention of sex, Clarke’s mind wandered back to the moment in the aisle with Bellamy and all the moments they’d had today. Her long-distance crush had morphed into a full-blown crush—which could be a good thing, but more likely than not, she would make an idiot out of herself. 

“Clarke has her boy face on,” Emori sang as she too entered the kitchen. “Distinctly different than her girl face but oddly similar to her thinking about Gossip Girl fan theories face.” 

Harper nodded, pointing toward the tray of cookies waiting to be placed in the oven. 

“She’s baking...and in a much better mood than this morning. So I’d say you’re probably right.” 

Rolling her eyes, Clarke slid the cookies into the oven and set the timer, flipping both of her friends off.

“There’s no boy,” she sighed, hugging Harper’s torso while they watched the cookies bake. “Just a very nice Trader Joe’s employee who suggested I try this jar thing.” 

“Whatever you say, kiddo,” Emori said, sandwiching Harper from the other side. “We’re just glad you’re not all frowny anymore.” 

Clarke couldn’t even bring herself to deny it. She was glad that things were turning up too. 

The cookies turned out reasonably edible, so much so that she set a few aside, under the insane notion that she would take a few for Bellamy. There were a few reasons why it wasn’t a good idea, all of which was why she wasn’t going to tell her friends about it. It was a little creepy to go to the grocery store two days in a row and even weirder to give baked goods to a relative stranger—but somehow, she got the impression he wouldn’t mind. 

So she packed a little glass container in her work bag the next day and spent her entire shift staring at it and doubting herself. Throughout the day, she crafted an excuse for why she was returning to the store—she’d burnt all the cauliflower gnocchi in an overheated saucepan, and it turned into globby mush.

It felt like a good cover-up, and if he seemed weirded out to see her, she could just buy something and leave. 

Before she could talk herself out of it, Clarke took her daily complimentary latte, carefully put the container in her tote bag, and walked downtown toward Trader Joe’s. 

She’d made it as far as the parking lot when she realized Bellamy was walking out of the store—and he’d seen her. 

“Hi stranger,” she said, hoping it didn’t sound creepy and immediately regretting her choice. She hadn’t anticipated seeing him so soon, not before she’d had time to prep herself and seem properly nonchalant. 

He absolutely looked caught off guard. Not creeped out, but definitely surprised. 

“Clarke, it’s good to see you,” He replied after a brief pause, waving with a lunch container as he changed courses and started walking toward her. 

And her whole body sagged in relief. 

“I was hoping to see you,” she grinned, sitting beside him on a nearby bench. 

“You caught me at a good time—no customers to piss off.” 

“If only she knew how much sage wisdom you have,” Clarke teased, reaching into her bag as if the cookies had somehow vanished in thin air. 

“Wisdom? I don’t know about that,” Bellamy laughed, a nice deep laugh, warm and sincere. It lit up his entire face, crinkling his eyes in the best way. “But if you wouldn’t mind telling my little sister that, you’d be doing me a favor.” 

They laughed together, and she listened to him talk about his sister for a while before she finally brought out the cookies. 

“You were right. They were foolproof,” Clarke admitted, setting the container down on his thigh. 

“You did it?” 

“I did it.” 

In his excitement, Bellamy lunged up from the bench and then immediately sat back down again, neck flushing a bright red as he turned his attention to the cookies. 

“These, umm, these look great! Is this—for me?” 

“That was the idea, yeah.” 

The broad smile returned as he examined the cookie and then took a bite, dramatically making a big show of how good it tasted. 

“Okay, relax, Meryl Streep. They’re still from a mix.” 

“No, they’re perfect. Promise I wouldn’t lie to you,” he exclaimed, setting the rest of the cookie on top of the lid and turning to his wrap. 

Clarke folded herself into the bench, drinking her latte while Bellamy ate his lunch. They talked about everything and nothing, about how he wanted to open his own restaurant one day, grow his own food, and make things that reminded people why they were alive. 

And the more he talked, the more Clarke could feel herself falling for him. For the way, his eyes lit up and how passionate he was about the world. Bellamy was the antidote to her slump, someone full of life, who made her feel like everything was more exciting. 

She hoped he felt the same way about her, but she knew it wasn’t possible. Right now, she didn’t have that kind of light. Most of the time, she lived for the sake of living, just went through the motions. 

“What about you?” He asked, leaning back as he took a sip from a bottle of lemonade. 

Clarke didn’t know what to say. Did she admit that she didn’t know what she was doing? That she was caught in the middle of what she wanted and what was expected of her. 

“Honestly, I like a lot of things but—the idea of picking one is so daunting,” she admitted, chewing on her straw. It wasn’t something she’d intended on saying. In fact, she’d never articulated it to anyone, but it felt like Bellamy would understand. 

He chewed thoughtfully on his wrap as he listened to her describe her love for art, her passion for kids, and her disdain for making coffee. 

“The irony of it is that we have this old percolator that doesn’t stay warm—“ she rambled, complaining about their ancient coffee machine that Harper inherited from her great uncle. But he interrupted her with a gentle tap on her knee. 

“I think you’d be a great teacher...or an artist...or a coffee reviewer who hates espresso machines and percolators,” he chuckled, letting his hand linger on her skin. 

“I hadn’t thought much about teaching, but lately, it does feel kind of right.” 

“You could also always be a baker.” 

It diffused the tension a little, like he could sense they’d tipped into a place she wasn’t ready to talk about. And she was grateful for that. 

“Ah yes, queen of the mixes,” she laughed, letting her hand settle over his on her knee. He turned his palm to take her hand, and with the movement, it lit the face of his watch. 

One thirty. 

Five minutes past her lunch break. 

It would take her another ten minutes to get back to work, which meant she wasn’t just late. She was, oh shit, late. 

“Are you okay?” Bellamy asked, carefully letting of her hand. 

“I’m about to get fired. I’m so sorry I have to go,” Clarke explained, scrambling to toss her coffee cup in the trash and go. It wasn’t an attractive string of events by any means, all flailing limbs and her tote bag falling off her shoulder, but she didn’t really have a choice. “It was so so good to see you, Bellamy.” 

As she jogged away, she heard him reply with a faint, “you too.” 

***

  
To say her boss was pissed off seemed to be an understatement. 

Clarke got stuck with every bad shift for the next two weeks—opening and closing. She had to clean out the machines, scrape gum off the tables, and do just about every other terrible task that nobody else wanted to. 

But it was worth it for that one afternoon with Bellamy. She just hoped that he would be there the next time she went to Trader Joe’s and that maybe, just maybe, he would want to go out with her. 

If only she’d had the foresight to get his number or something. He didn’t even have social media. In fact, there wasn’t a trace of him anywhere. If she hadn't seen him so many times, Clarke could’ve convinced herself that he was a figment of her imagination. 

She wiped the counter down for good measure, adjusting the pastries, so they were ready for the morning rush. 

Maybe she and Bellamy weren’t meant to be anything other than passing ships, just meant to cross paths on the one day her head seemed to be swirling with too many thoughts. 

Clarke hoped it could be more than that, but she knew that life didn’t always work out that way. 

If nothing else, their conversation gave her the push to call the local art school, to offer to be a volunteer teacher a few times a week. It wasn’t much, but it was a start, the first step toward something beyond this counter. 

The counter she was stuck behind for the rest of the morning, so she might as well make the best of it. 

Brewing an espresso of her own, Clarke doodled on a napkin, pausing every once in a while to serve a customer or refill an iced coffee. 

Nothing crazy about the day, just an Ingrid Michaelson playlist that she actually liked and the light chatter of customers catching up or doing work or talking on the phone. 

This is one of the only parts of her job that Clarke actually loved, the peace of the post-morning rush, the lull that still left a touch of life echoing off the walls. 

The door chimed, probably the only customer she would see for at least half an hour. 

And to her shock, it was Bellamy. 

For the first time since they’d met, he wasn’t wearing his work uniform. The Hawaiian shirt was replaced with a soft woven sweater and worn jeans, his curly hair still a little damp around the ends. 

“Hey stranger,” he grinned, shoving his hands in his pockets as he neared. 

“Hey yourself, it’s good to see you,” she replied, hoping she didn’t seem as giddy as she felt. 

Had he come here just to see her? How had he known? 

But she kept her cool, for the most part, made him her favorite vanilla latte, and drew a smiley face beside his name. 

“Figured I would celebrate my day off with a cup of coffee,” he said, sitting on one of the nearby stools, folding his elbows in front of him. 

“Well, what a nice coincidence.” 

“Yeah, small world, huh?” 

“How’ve you been?” 

The conversation was awkward at first, like neither of them really knew what to do with themselves, but they warmed up with time, as customers came and went. 

Clarke told him about her volunteering, the art school, and getting her feet wet with teaching. She explained how pissed her boss was about her being late and that she’d been chained to the counter for the past two weeks. 

He, in turn, told her stories about Trader Joe’s, customers he’d met, weird products she should try. 

It was nice, and having him there made the day move faster. 

Before she knew it, Maya came to take over closing. 

Bellamy hung back, waited as she washed her hands, collected her things, and then walked her out of the store. 

“I almost forgot,” Bellamy exclaimed, swinging off his backpack and producing her glass container, filled with lemon bars. “Had to return the favor.” 

It surprised her, the gesture and the fact that he’d remembered.

“This is so sweet,” she said, cracking the lid to peek at the dessert. “Thank you.” 

It only occurred to her after she took a bite, that he’d been rather prepared for a coincidence. 

“I tried three other coffee shops before this one...which I know is kind of creepy, but I just—“ he rambled, almost like he could read her mind. 

The lemon bar was, of course, amazing, soft and sweet and perfect, and his words were even more endearing. 

“Bellamy,” she said, this time interrupting him instead as she reached out to grab his wrist. “I’m glad you came.” 

And the air between them thickened, his eyes dropping to meet hers. 

“I kept hoping you would stop by,” he murmured, hand wrapping around her bicep, thumb rubbing against her skin. 

“I wanted to...but I never seemed to be able to get there.” 

They were barely a breath apart now, the glass container of baked goods cradled between their chests. 

“You’re the brightest person I’ve ever met,” Bellamy began, bringing his other hand up to cup her cheek. “Not in the sense that you’re really happy, because you’re kind of not. But you just seem—alive.” 

And after months, if not years, of feeling like she was stuck in the same place, to hear someone call her alive...it was a beautiful compliment. 

“You make me feel alive,” she whispered, seconds before she leaned in and closed the distance between them. 

The kiss wasn’t perfect. They were both too wound up, all teeth and hands in awkward places. But they settled into it, and it felt like Clarke’s heart might beat out of her chest. The way he was holding her, the softness of his lips, the quiet sound he made when she laced her fingers through his hair. 

She felt dizzy when they pulled apart, lips tingling, cheeks warm. 

Bellamy pecked another kiss to her lips and then to the tip of her nose on the way back as he pulled back, smiling at her so softly that it made her insides melt. 

“Would you like to go out with me sometime?” He asked, tucking a curl behind her ear. 

“I would love to.” 

She leaned forward to kiss him again, grateful that her terrible day had brought her something so beautiful. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully, your heart is a little warmer! I know the world is terrifying and sad and stressful right now, so I hope you are all taking care of yourselves and doing okay. I love y'all and am always here if you need a listening ear. 
> 
> To add to that, if you are looking for ways to contribute toward social justice and racial equity in the United States, writers/creators/artists in The 100 fandom have come together to form an initiative called t100fic4blm! People are able to make donations to BLM related organizations and receive a requested work of their choice from our list of talented creators! The initiative is for ALL ships and there is something for everyone who wants to help us make a difference. I am very grateful to be a part of it and am currently taking requests for updates to my WIPs and will be back to doing one-shots very very soon! For more info, you can find us on Tumblr (link) and Twitter (link). 
> 
> Be well, stay safe!! Please let me know what you think of this little guy, I had a lot of fun writing it. Sending you all so much love <3


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